Guilt
by binary-express
Summary: Sam will never stop blaming himself for everything. The brutal, recurring dreams he's been having only serves to remind him, and he can't take it anymore. All he wants is out.


The visions behind Sam's eyelids had gotten too much. They were too much to begin with, but Sam, naïvely thinking they'd go away, was horribly wrong. Sleep eluded him at the best of times, sure, but the sudden onslaught of nightmares rendered it damn near impossible. He would lay in the dark, opting for listening to his practically comatose brother's breathing as he waited for dawn to break, instead of making a vain attempt to get some rest. The semidarkness of the dingy motel room pressed in on him, and the longer he stayed, the more he wished he hadn't been born, because if there was any point to these weirdass, violent dreams, that was it.

The whole pining for nonexistence thing he had going scared him, in all honesty. The lack of sleep made him a sloppy hunter, yeah, but it was the ideas that restless nights spent tossing and turning conjured that terrified him in the rational light of day. They were ridiculous to even consider, but as the minutes ticked by, the utter guilt grew stronger and stronger until all Sam wanted was out.

He swung his legs over the side of the shoddy bed, peeking over at Dean as the frame groaned in complaint. Dean barely twitched; Sam shouldn't really have been surprised. The other hunter had never really been a light sleeper – relying on his brother to jerk awake the moment something went south, which it often did, in their case. A vampire trying to tear your throat out is an awesome awakening, thanks for asking. You should try it sometime. Besides, Dean wasn't weak enough to be constantly woken up by stupid dreams, not like Sam. He was the stronger of the two; the better.

Sam padded barefoot over to the door, tugging it open and closing it carefully behind him. The grimy tile was cool under his feet, and the frigid breeze went straight through him, not that he seemed to notice. His thought lingered around the visions plaguing him, the imaginings not of the future as they had once been, but of the past, about how much better off the entire fucking world would be without him. There wasn't a person that came to mind whose life wouldn't be so much easier, apple pie, even, if he hadn't been born. And no matter how many times he was told none of it was his fault, he'd never believe it, and he doubted they truly believe it either.

His fingers curled around the railing of the narrow balcony and he leaned against it, the drop becoming a hell of a lot more interesting than it had been that afternoon. But, no, that wouldn't fix anything at all; the damage had already been done. Damage had been done in Mary giving birth it him – it was the beginning of the end, because if she hadn't had him, she'd still be alive, none of this would have every happened. The Apocalypse wouldn't have happened. Yellow Eyes would never have appeared in Lawrence that night. The Winchester family, amongst many others, would all be alive and well. If it wasn't for Sam.

Hunter's instinct alerted Sam to the presence of who he assumed was Dean several seconds later. Perhaps he'd woken up to take a piss and when his little brother wasn't in bed, he'd freaked. What did it matter? It was a long moment before he turned stiffly, his gaze falling considerably higher than it needed to; that was definitely not Dean. He blinked multiple times, but the short man didn't waver or disappear, just stood with his brow furrowed and his arms folded. And then it hit him.

Sam reached for the gun that was absent, left sitting by his bed atop the nightstand. His hand lingered on his hip, and he took a step backwards, abruptly meeting the railing. He couldn't chide himself enough. It occurred to him that he'd fallen asleep back inside, but this wasn't how the dreams usually ran, and he wasn't about to take any chances. The archangel made a pained expression, raising his hands palm up in a show of harmlessness.

"Relax, Sammich, just wanna talk." Gabriel's words were laced with no innuendo or threat, which only served to concrete Sam's beliefs, though the stupid nickname made him consider otherwise. Then again, it wasn't that hard to come up with pet names, and he swallowed hard. "Thought you wouldda been happier to see me, by the way, what with the way you been calling me name."

Opening his mouth for a snide reply, Sam froze. He hadn't been – no, he reminded himself, it wasn't Gabriel. Gabriel was gone.

"I'm not an idiot. Who are you – what are you?" His voice was a growl, and Gabriel damn near winced.

"Winchester trust issues. Right, I forgot." He made to step forward, but Sam held out a hand in an attempt to have him stop. The thing – whatever it was – raised its hands a little higher. "Relax kiddo. It's kinda cute, though, y'know, the whole, 'Haha, no what's dead stays dead.' I mean, you been hunting already dead stuff since you were… less of a tree, more of a twig." His smile was damn near affectionate.

Sam blinked. He had a point, considering he'd seen Castiel – amongst others – killed multiple times… because of him… Then again, the – well, whatever it was – was probably trying to trick him into trusting it to slaughter him and Dean in their sleep. Not gonna happen, buddy.

"I… I don't believe you."

Gabriel made a show of rolling his eyes and sighing dramatically before stepping forward and clasping Sam's outstretched hand with both of his. "Alright, alright. Look, Sam. I know what's been going on with your dreams. And we need to talk. But I'm going to show you something because I trust you. Because you deserve it." His tone gained a teasing note. "Because, you won't believe me if I don't."

Sam couldn't bring himself to pull away, even as panic pooled in his stomach. Gabriel's smile faded as he glanced furtively around and his eyes slipped shut as – oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh fucking _God_. His mouth fell open and his breath caught as two sets of broad, golden and utterly _gorgeous_ wings shimmered into view, not at all marred by the ashy remains of bone protruding below them.

Gabriel's eyes fluttered open as the hunter gawked at him, playful smirk fast returning. "You can touch 'em if you want, Samsquatch. I-" His voice lowered slightly. "I think you deserve as much." He let go of Sam's hand, the wings stretching almost experimentally.

It was a long moment before Sam could even breathe. The edges of the topmost pair disappeared into the floor above them as if they were a hologram and the feathers gleamed a rainbow of colours in the pale moonlight. Instead of taking up the archangel's offer, however, he took a hesitant step forward to wrap his arms around his torso and – what, no. He was so not crying. Just dust in his eyes, was all. A lot of dust. But even as sobs wreaked his body, Gabriel held him close with what was an almost superhuman strength.

"Listen to me," he mumbled, voice devoid of its usual amusement. "None of this is your fault. None of those deaths you've been dreaming about are your fault, not your mum, not your dad, that girl Jess, Dean, Cas, not the Harvelles, Singer, _me_." He rested his hands on the taller man's waist, his expression again pained. "There was nothing you could have done, and you need to stop blaming yourself. For me."

The archangel pulled away, though Sam was pretty intent on clinging to him, as if now he had gotten him back, he wouldn't let go for the world. Gabriel, however, peeled away from him to peer up at the man with exceptionally golden eyes. "I mean, he said, almost as if nothing serious could slip from his lips without a crude joke. "You have some serious issues."

And then, Sam was kissing him and everything was Gabriel and nothing else mattered. The memories of the brutal deaths he would forever blame himself for slipped away for the first time in far too long and the will to have never existed was gone, and his entire world was just _Gabriel_. It took a long moment for the archangel to respond to Sam's needy kiss, and he was stiff against him until San reached out to brush his knuckles over the soft plumes of feather by his side. Gabriel melted against him, sliding his hands up to grasp the younger Winchester's shirt for dear life, and he made a small noise – which Sam was pretty damn sure was a moan – against his lips. Gabriel pressed his tongue into Sam's mouth as he traced the edges of the feathers, the wing trembling violently under his touch.

When at last Sam came up for air, he rested his forehead against the archangel's. "You died," he muttered between pants and Gabriel's eyes glittered, his mouth twitching up into a smirk. The appendages arched against Sam's fingers before fading back into invisibility.

"Nope."

"But- The wings on the floor?"

Gabriel gave a small shrug, reaching up to card a hand through Sam's hair. "Yeah. Archangels aren't that easy to get outta your hair, kiddo. Don't look so disappointed." Sam's gaze darkened, which only served to broaden his grin. "I had six wings before Luci took an angel blade to me, which was rude, by the way. Now I have four." He shrugged again. "Two lives left. Congratulations, you passed kindergarten maths."

The younger Winchester couldn't help blinking before he slipped a hand to where he knew the burnt bone protruded. He pressed his fingers into the skin there and Gabriel hissed, twisting away. "Yeah. Keep your hands you yourself, Sammich."

Sam couldn't help kissing the dick again, long and slow and filled with what was almost affection. There was something in the way he held Gabriel that made the archangel realise, shit, the kid did care. Not that the nightmares hadn't been any indication. The archangel gently pulled back again, sliding a hand down to intertwine their fingers. "How about you get some sleep. I'll stay the night."

When the hunter awoke the next morning, Gabriel curled into him, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd used some kind of mojo, but it didn't really matter. In the archangel's arms he felt safer than he had in months; his dreams weren't plagued with horrors. He was almost content, happy. And Sam wouldn't give him up for anything.

If only Dean saw things the same way.


End file.
